


he's coming down

by cursingcursive (queenradi)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenradi/pseuds/cursingcursive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But you’re okay, now.” Bucky’s metal hand cups the back of Steve’s neck. It’s cold and anchoring in the heat of the club. “You’re gonna forget all about them, right darlin'?” His other hand cups Steve’s jaw. The pad of his thumb rests on Steve’s bottom lip.</p><p>“Mmm, only if you make me.” Steve bites Bucky’s thumb gently, watches his eyes widen and go dark. He slides his hands around to Bucky’s lower back and uses the new leverage to rock their hips together for real. </p><p>“I’ll see what I can do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's coming down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissyRain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyRain/gifts).



> for MissyRain because she gave me the idea and she deserves this, ya know? she's pretty cool ;)

There are times when Steve really, really wishes he could get adequately drunk. And by “adequately” he means “completely and utterly shitfaced”. 

This is one of those times. 

It’s not that he’s  _ opposed _ to seeing two of his friends grind on each other, it’s just that he draws the line when the grinding turns into humping, and hands slide into pants, and suddenly Tony and Sam collapse back into the booth, practically devouring each other’s faces, grabbing wildly at each other’s crotches, and generally showing no regard for the fact that Steve is  _ right fucking there _ . He can  _ hear  _ them. Over the music. 

Yeah, he could have gone the rest of his life  _ not _ knowing that Sam Wilson whimpers if you bite him in the right place on his jaw. That’s something only Tony should know, he thinks. 

He tries to scoot away from them, rum and coke in hand as he does, but that only provides more room. Tony climbs into Sam’s lap. The grinding gets worse. Sam whines again. 

“Guys,” Steve says loudly. No reaction. He rolls his eyes. “Hel- _ lo _ !” 

If anything, their activities increase in intensity. Steve swears Sam is smirking, even as he bites cruelly at Tony’s neck and grabs his ass. 

“Jesus Christ.” Steve knocks back the rest of his drink. “You guys suck.” 

Tony pulls away with a wet sound. His eyes are wide and dark and his mouth is red. “There’s an idea!” he says happily. “Sam, babe, lemme suck you off.” 

“Good God!” Steve climbs out of the booth and nearly kills himself on the way, scrambling to get away as Sam pulls Tony’s hair and they start whispering, between kisses. Steve hates them. A lot. 

He slowly makes his way to the bar, pushing past more grinding couples and singles that rub against him, attempting to push his body into a rhythm he doesn’t have the energy to find. Steve ignores them all, only sits on a stool and orders three shots of tequila as quickly as he can. 

Nat and Bucky are supposed to be here, and so is Clint, and now that he thinks about it, Thor had promised to make an appearance, too. Now they’re all over an hour late, and Steve is left alone with the terror that is SamandTony. They were the only three that had escaped the wrath of some benign SHEILD job, because they’d taken the last one. Rock-Paper-Scissors tournaments were the only efficient way the Avengers could sort out mission rotations, lately, and Iron Man, Falcon, and Captain America were on a losing streak against the assassins. 

Tonight was supposed to be a night for everyone to get out, to take a break. Even when the mission had popped up, a simple “get in, shoot some people, steal a flash-drive” schtick, and Nat, Bucky, and Clint lost the Rock-Paper-Scissors, it was promised they’d be here on time. 

Steve can’t even be worried about them being dead. There’s a text on his phone,  _ “we’re alive, be there soon” _ from Bucky, that prevents him from freaking out. It just allows him to be irritated. 

He knocks back all three shots as they’re lined up in front of him on the counter. The buzz of the alcohol in his veins feels more like a simmer, not nearly enough to get him inebriated. He hates it. 

“Get stood up?” The bartender slides another shot in front of Steve. His eyes are knowing. It’s another thing Steve adds to his long, long list titled “Annoying”. 

“Nope. Just got a couple of horny friends with no sense of privacy.” The fourth shot goes down just as smoothly as the others. “Can I get a cranberry martini?” 

“No problem.” 

Steve’s “fuck off” vibes must be strong today. The bartender gives him his drink and melts away among other customers. It’s the first blessing of the night. 

He nurses the martini for a good ten minutes before digging his phone out. The screen is blank, infuriatingly so, and he wants to punch something. Or sleep. Or down a whole bottle of Smirnoff. Or all three. 

He’s considering starting on doing just that when his phone lights up and buzzes in his hand. The text is from Clint, says only “coming” with a sunglasses emoji tagged on to the end. 

Steve doesn’t reply. 

Back at the table, Sam and Tony are no longer making out, but Sam looks suspiciously relaxed and Tony suspiciously smug. They’re both holding beer bottles loosely in their hands, but Steve doesn’t miss their hands linked under the table. He considers turning around and going right back to the bar. 

“Everyone else is on the way,” he says. “The mission went well. They’re alive.” 

Tony hums agreeably. Steve sees his arm move slightly under the table. Sam’s whole body twitches once before he visibly steels himself and regains control. 

Steve groans loudly. “Just go home and fuck, good God.” 

“It’s more fun this way,” Tony says smugly. He smirks around the neck of his beer bottle. Sam’s eyes are locked on his mouth. 

Steve is about to comment on their voyeuristic habits when he feels a hand fall heavy on his shoulder. He turns around so quickly his neck hurts, because the hand on his shoulder is cold and metal and the person it is attached to is grinning at him and Steve could cry because  _ finally _ , he doesn’t have to deal with Sam and Tony alone. 

Bucky laughs a little when Steve leaps up and smothers him in a hug. “Missed you too,” he chuckles. His arms wrap around Steve’s neck and hold him close. “Sorry we took so long.” 

“Don’t care,” Steve lies. He presses his face to the crook of Bucky’s neck. He smells like the soap in their shower at Stark Tower, not the soap at home. It’s not as good, but still Bucky. Still pretty damn good. 

“You’re lying,” Bucky laughs. He pushes Steve away, eyes shining in the low lighting of the club. Steve adores him. “I’m gonna go get drinks. Want something?” 

“One of whatever you get,” he says. 

“You got it, darlin’.” Bucky kisses him once on the cheek and then disappears. Steve watches him go, watches Clint scurry after him, and then he turns and slides back into the booth. His mood is considerably improved. 

Nat raises her eyebrows at him and smirks. She’s sitting right next to Sam, and Steve definitely does not miss the way her hand slides under the table to join Tony’s in whatever endeavors it’s accomplishing, now. Steve hates his life. 

“You’re disgusting,” Steve tells them all. 

Sam swallows thickly and pretends he’s not getting a handjob from two people in public. “I give you and Mr. Barnes fifteen minutes before you’re coming in your pants for each other.” 

“What, like you did for Tony?” Steve pointedly does not look at where Tony and Nat’s hands are hidden beneath the table. 

Sam closes his eyes. “I’ll get you for that later.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” Steve finishes his martini and crunches on a piece of ice, picks at a stain in the table, draws in the condensation of a left-behind beer bottle; anything to distract himself from the piercing gaze of Nat and the breathy moans coming from Sam. 

Bucky comes back with a tray of shots. Clint’s got two margaritas, one of which he hands to Nat. She accepts it, occupied hand still firmly under the table. Sam’s head thunks on the back of the booth loudly. 

“Here we go!” Bucky yells. He doesn’t even sit before downing a shot. Steve follows suit, then Tony, and then Thor appears out of nowhere with beer for everyone. He sits by Steve and no one misses the exact moment Sam comes into Tony and Nat’s hands. 

Everyone ignores it, because true friendship means you wait twelve hours before discussing embarrassing orgasms. 

“Come on.” Bucky pulls insistently at Steve’s arm. He goes without argument, crowding up against Bucky until they’re on the dance floor with barely an inch between them. 

“They’ve been like that  _ all night _ ,” Steve complains. His hands are on Bucky’s hips instantly. Bucky’s arms go around his neck and tug their bodies close. “It’s been torture.” 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky smirks at him, not looking sorry at all. “It sounds awful.”

“It is.” Steve is finding it harder to complain. He can actually hear a beat to the music, now, mostly because Bucky is moving his hips to it. Hard to ignore, really. 

“But you’re okay, now.” Bucky’s metal hand cups the back of Steve’s neck. It’s cold and anchoring in the heat of the club. “You’re gonna forget all about them, right darlin’?” His other hand cups Steve’s jaw. The pad of his thumb rests on Steve’s bottom lip.

“Mmm, only if you make me.” Steve bites Bucky’s thumb gently, watches his eyes widen and go dark. He slides his hands around to Bucky’s lower back and uses the new leverage to rock their hips together for real. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

The rest of the club turns into static and white noise and shadows and a bunch of other things that really are not important, not when Bucky kisses Steve like he’s dying and his hands are gripping him like he’s drowning. 

Steve realizes, distantly, that he may have been lying to himself when he said he wasn’t worried about the mission. Of course he was worried; he’s always worried, when it comes to Bucky. He’s always worried when Bucky is anywhere except in his arms, and when Bucky  _ is _ in his arms, he’s worried about when he won’t be. 

Moments like this, moments free of worry, moments of pure  _ Bucky _ , aren’t rare, but Steve has learned to love them more than anything. 

He’s also learned to never take them for granted, which is why he notices right away when Bucky’s kisses switch from just excited to desperate. Why he doesn’t hesitate to grab Bucky’s ass when he notices they’re both half-hard. Why he doesn’t pause before whispering, “bathroom” and dragging Bucky to the back of the club. 

Bucky laughs brightly when Steve slams and locks the door behind them, pushes him against it and kisses his neck wetly. 

“And you were upset about Tony and Sam and Nat going at it in public,” Bucky teases. He’s remarkably put-together for someone who’s pinned to a wall and close to getting a handjob. 

“ _ We’re _ behind closed doors,” Steve grumbles. His hands push up and under Bucky’s shirt. His fingers pull roughly at Bucky’s nipples; Bucky gasps sharply and arches against him, hands flying to his hair and pulling. 

“Fuck…” Bucky’s already out of breath. Steve’s aching in his jeans. This isn’t going to last very long. “Fuck, come on, baby…” Bucky rips open the front of Steve’s jeans and grabs his dick. Steve swears and pinches his nipples again. 

It’s a little like a war, the way they’re doing this. Bucky jerks him off harshly, biting his neck and yanking on his hair with the metal hand. Steve bites back, sucks hard, twists Bucky’s nipples with one hand and palms his ass under his jeans with the other. They’re panting and swearing and laughing, rocking together and gasping each other’s names into the heated air. 

Bucky hitches a leg up over Steve’s waist when his hand dips lower down his ass. Their cocks rub together perfectly; Steve bites Bucky’s lip and claws down his chest. Bucky squeezes both of his hands and Steve melts. 

“You gonna fuck me?” Bucky taunts. His tongue pushes into Steve’s mouth for one hot second before he keeps talking. “Fuck me right up against a wall, our friends waiting outside… might as well bend me over the bar, fuck me in front of everyone…” 

Steve growls and tucks his fingers against Bucky’s hole, threatens to push in dry. Bucky whines high in his throat. He arches sharply, his whole body shaking. Steve’s  _ so  _ close, so close his chest feels like it’s collapsing on itself. 

“Yeah, fuck me, come on baby… make them hear, make them hear how good you are…” Bucky’s babbling, his hand dragging Steve closer and closer, his voice shaking and pitching higher the more Steve rocks up against him. 

Bucky wraps his hand around both of their cocks. Steve picks Bucky up off the ground completely and grinds up into him. He wishes distantly for lube, wishes loudly that he could actually fuck Bucky in this dingy little club bathroom… 

Instead, Bucky whispers “Come  _ on _ , baby…” in a broken, breathy voice, and Steve comes with his mouth on Bucky’s neck and his hands grabbing roughly at Bucky’s ass. 

Bucky follows with a gasp and a full-body shiver. His hands go slack in Steve’s hair and around their cocks; his head tips back against the wall. Steve kisses up his throat sweetly until he’s kissing the laugh right from Bucky’s mouth. 

“Good?” he asks. 

Bucky scoffs. “You didn’t even get a finger in me, and you think I’m fucked out?” He’s grinning. That’s enough of an answer for Steve. 

“Let me take you home, then.” Steve licks at a violent, fresh bruise on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ll do it properly.”

“At least buy me a drink, first.” 

Steve laughs and kisses him again. And again. And once more, before finally letting him back down. 

And then once again, because he can — because Bucky’s smiling and happy and they just had sex in a club bathroom and they’re going to go home and have sex again and Steve knows their friends are going to mock them for this. 

It doesn’t stop him from smacking Bucky’s ass in front of said friends when they leave the club. 

Honestly, what could?  

**Author's Note:**

> My only excuse for this is boredom. What's yours?


End file.
